My mind is constantly thinking.
I can’t stop thinking. I think about anything and everything.
About what the kids are doing, about what my husband really thinks, about “What if?” moments.
I can’t relax completely as I always seem to have something on my mind.
My hubby and I had a great talk the other day. A talk where we actually spoke the truth, told each other our fears, our desires. Our needs and wants.
I felt I’d made progress, I’d felt I had finally got the courage to speak up and say everything that was on my mind.
The best part was that he seemed to understand what I was trying to say, even if he didn’t understand everything that has happened in my past, it felt as though he cared, felt as though he showed a true interest in me and what I was saying.
Well, I thought that was the case.
Don’t get me wrong, I do truly love him. He does whatever he can to help me get through my darkest days. He helps look after the kids, he does much of the work around the house and I am very very thankful of all that he does, I really am.
I just can’t seem to shake the feeling that I have when I am here.
Here in this house, the house that HE was raised in, that HE still lives in.
I guess I feel like some sort of imposter. Like a parasite that has wandered in and won’t leave.
Like the stray, flea-bitten dog that everyone feels sorry for. They want to kick it out on the street but feel sorry for it so continue to let it stay with them, eating heir food, using their things.
I think this is the main reason as to why I am so passionate about getting into our OWN house. I don’t care how it looks, as long as it gives our family a roof over our heads, keeps us dry and warm through the winter months, gives the kids the freedom to hang pictures on their walls, to dig and play in the backyard, to have pets, explore, discover.
To know what it is like to really live.
Just like a lot of things in life, the saying “don’t judge a book by it’s cover” certainly rings true.
Many people wear a mask to disguise the true hurt they are feeling, to disguise the loneliness and emptiness in their heart. They tell others that they’re fine, just to be polite but inside they are screaming out for someone to read their eyes, the windows to their soul, to see the hurt and pain, to see how much they are actually crying out for a bit of attention, for someone to shower them with love, for someone to say it is OK, that they don’t have to constantly wear a mask day in and day out.
That it is OK to have hopes and dreams that seem selfish, that seem to be far beyond anything they could ever imagine happening to them.
My psychologist often tells me to “Trust the process”.
She tells me that things will fall into place and that I have to try and help myself kick-start things so that first ball can start rolling and then hopefully everything else will just fall into place around it.
I want to believe her, I really do.
Some days I do believe things are looking my way, I feel great, good things happen to me, I feel I have reasons to smile, to laugh, to enjoy life.
But then I seem to hit a brick wall at full speed.
It is like someone, something realises I am starting to enjoy myself and they must make it stop, like it is a sin, like it is something I should not feel and therefore feel bad about.
This has happened to me today.
Since my hubby and I had our chat, I was feeling quite good about myself compared to what I usually do. I even started looking at various real estate sites to see what housing options could possibly be within our small budget.
There were actually places available, some were much nicer that I thought they would be too which was a pleasant surprise.
I even shared some property links with my hubby, showed him what I had found, showed him that there were cheaper properties that actually offered more than we thought they would.
Earlier this afternoon though, the guilt crept back. I started having the guilty thoughts again. It was wrong of me to be looking for homes for my family. I felt I was supposed to be really happy being here where I am, that I would be looked at as greedy, as selfish and ungrateful for looking for a different place to raise our family. A different house in a different town.
I felt it was wrong to say that there are in fact places we could possibly afford to buy, places that we could live happily in. Sure they’re not the same as here, nothing ever will be the same as here but for some reason I had a glimmer of hope that maybe… just maybe we might be able to seriously look for a home to raise our little family before our kids have all grown up and moved out on their own.
I think my problem is that I am too scared to trust the process.
I am too scared of losing those who I love the most. I think the problem is that I feel that if I try to chase after my life-long goals, I will somehow lose those I love along the way. It’s not something I want to do. I fear going after my hopes, my dreams and desires will push those I love away. A part of me says that I need to ignore all my urges, I should put everybody else before myself, I should keep everyone else happy first and then after everyone else has been pleased, if I have any strength left, only then should I consider possibly thinking about doing something for me.
I fear the process, I fear history repeating itself, I fear life itself at times.